At night I returned to my residence.
The corridors were quiet. The torches had been dimmed to embers. My footsteps were the only sound.
When I entered, I was greeted by an unfamiliar face.
A woman—maybe in her twenties—stood near the doorway. A maid's uniform. A mild smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She dipped her head.
"Welcome, Young Master."
I stopped.
Never seen you before.
"Are you new here?" I asked.
"Yes, Young Master." Her voice was smooth. Rehearsed. "From now on I am your personal maid. Silia. It is my honor to serve you."
She straightened. The smile stayed fixed.
"I am the replacement for my grandmother, who was serving you until now. She returned to the village to live with my parents. Her illness made it difficult to continue her duties."
The words came readily.
Nanny's gone.
"Okay," I said. "Give her my thanks. For taking care of me until now."
Silia nodded. Nothing in her face shifted.
I walked past her into the bedroom. The door closed behind me.
Maybe I was ignorant. Maybe I should've noticed before. She was old—I knew that much. But she never mentioned being sick. Never mentioned leaving. She'd drilled the ceremony customs into me for weeks and never once said goodbye.
At least she could've met me before going.
The thought sat somewhere behind my ribs and stayed there.
My gaze shifted to the table.
A letter.
I opened it.
---
Congratulations, my dear nephew, on your naming ceremony.
When you read this I will have already left for Myravel. I apologize for not congratulating you in person. I will see you soon, when the time comes. Until then, you should train diligently.
— Your loving uncle, Averion
---
I read it twice.
Kinda short for a letter.
But that was like him. Show up without warning. Save a life. Disappear before anyone could ask questions. A letter this brief was almost expected.
I set it back on the table.
Tomorrow meant a new beginning. I should sleep.
I did.
---
The sun had just risen when I reached the training ground.
Warm light poured across the grass. The birds had already started their search for food.
The field was empty.
Father said the instructor would arrive early.
I waited.
The warmth of the sun climbed higher. The shadows shrank against the stone walls.
An hour passed. Then half of another.
Why isn't anyone coming? Did I get the time wrong?
The thought crept in slow. I'd followed the order exactly. Dawn. Training grounds. Be ready. But the grounds stayed still. No guards. No servants. No instructor.
Should I just go back to my room?
I turned.
A sound came from the willow tree. Branches shifting. A soft thud against grass.
Then a voice—carefree, edged with mockery.
"How rude. A brat turns his back without greeting his master as soon as he appears. Is this how the youth of House Luminon behave these days? Tsk, tsk."
I turned back.
A man stood beneath the willow. One hand pressed to his mouth, stifling a yawn. His clothes were loose. His posture had zero discipline. He looked like he'd just woken up from a nap.
"My apologies," I said. "I greet the instructor. But there was no one here when I arrived. I thought—"
"Huh. Now you're questioning my lateness?" He waved a hand, dismissive. "I had matters to attend to. And besides—you were simply early. I am not late."
I said nothing.
He scratched the back of his head and looked me over. His expression flickered—something between boredom and assessment.
"So. What have you learned so far?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Huh."
The disappointment wasn't hidden. It wasn't sharp, either. Just tired. Like he'd expected this answer and still found it exhausting.
"Well. Do not worry." He straightened slightly. "You are fortunate to become my disciple from today. You will address me as Master. You will obey my instructions without question. You will follow every rule I set. If you understand—say yes."
"Yes, Master."
He pointed toward the track that ringed the training ground.
"Run. From now until I tell you to stop."
Then he sat beside the willow tree, leaned back, and began humming some weird song I didn't recognize.
I ran.
---
The first few laps were easy. Packed earth, even and familiar. My legs were fresh. Breathing steady.
The sun kept climbing.
By the third hour, my lungs had started burning. By the fourth, my legs weren't mine anymore. The grass blurred. The willow tree became a green smear in the corner of my vision.
The master didn't look up.
I kept running.
---
When he finally spoke, the sun had crossed its peak and started its slow descent.
"You can stop now. That's enough for today. Same time tomorrow."
He stood, stretched, and wandered off without another word.
I collapsed.
The earth was cool against my back. My clothes were soaked through. My chest rose and fell in shallow bursts.
I stared at the sky.
This is only the beginning.
---
I arrived earlier the next morning.
The master was already there.
"Late," he said.
I stopped. The sun had barely cleared the wall. I'd come at the same hour as yesterday. Maybe earlier.
"Mas—"
"Five minutes." He cut in clean. "You made your master wait five minutes. Inexcusable."
Before I could speak again, he produced two metal bands. Small enough to fit a child's ankle. Dull gray. Unremarkable.
"For your tardiness, you will run with these. Five kilograms. On each leg."
He knelt and fastened them himself. The weight was immediate. Disproportionate. I shifted my foot and the metal dragged against the ground.
Are these really five kilos?
"Master, are these truly five kilograms?"
He tilted his head, like he was retrieving a distant memory.
"Yes. Five. Can you not lift such a small weight?" A pause. "From now on you will wear them at all times. And before you consider removing them—they are infused with magic. I will know."
He straightened.
"Run."
---
The routine held for three days.
Arrive. Run. Collapse. Repeat.
The master brought food on the second day. Ate it beneath the willow tree while I circled the track. The smell of fresh bread and cured meat drifted across the field.
He never offered to share.
By the evening of the third day, my legs had swollen beneath the bands. Each step sent a dull ache up through my knees. I didn't complain. I wasn't asked.
I ran until he told me to stop.
---
Late on the third night, I sat alone in my room.
The candle had burned low. Silia had already retired.
I looked at the metal bands around my ankles. The skin underneath was red and raw.
I don't get it.
Not the running. Not the weight. Not the early mornings.
The point.
The Duke had said to train. The master gave orders. I followed.
But every night, when the silence settled, the same thought surfaced—unbidden, stubborn.
Where is she?
My sister.
Is she in this world? Is she alive? Does she think I'm dead?
I had no way to search. No power. No knowledge. Just a body that was getting stronger whether I wanted it to or not, and a promise I couldn't keep yet.
The candle flickered.
Outside the window, the willow tree swayed in the dark.
---
The master watched from the window of his quarters.
His quarters were small. Sparse. A single shelf of books. A desk cluttered with old letters. The candle on the sill had burned down to nothing.
He stood with his arms crossed, looking out at the darkened training ground.
The boy was obedient. That was the problem.
Noble children arrived hungry. They wanted to prove themselves. Power. Recognition. Victory. Even the quiet ones burned with something underneath. Ambition. Fear. Pride. Something.
But this one?
This one ran until he collapsed and asked no questions.
This one wore the weights without complaint.
This one never asked why.
You are not learning, the master thought. You are performing. Following instructions like a brush dragged across canvas without knowing the painting.
His jaw tightened.
You don't care about magic. You don't care about this house. You don't even care about yourself.
So what do you care about?
The candle had gone out.
Tomorrow, he would find out.